JRR Tolkien would be 111 today. Eleventy one years is far too short a time indeed.
I have not come to the decision whether my poem is a lay or not, but I intend to put down the bits of it I have anyway. It is rather silly and childish, but I needn't make everything serious.
When all the world was young and fair
And flowers perfumed the restless air,
A prince was born in the land of Druien
To King Rathalas and Corana his Queen.
Then all the people rejoiced and sang
And throughout the land good tidings rang
Of the young Prince Ereth.
But not all this news were glad to hear,
Indeed it fell upon one foul ear-
In the great black tower of Orodrin-Grange
Sorceror Pelenus listened in fury and rage.
Cousin to the king, he was next to reign;
With the birth of Prince Ereth his claims were slain.
So deep plans were devised and dark spells were cast,
The happiness of Druien was not to last
Through the sorcery of Pelenus.
The years passed by swiftly in laughter and joy
And no sorrows befell the Druinian boy.
Prince Ereth had grown to a proud lad of ten,
More loved in the land than a boy could have been.
A sharp wit and sound mind posessed the young lord,
And he also had skill with a bow or a sword
Unmatched by the princes of old.
One morning the Queen, with her son by her side,
Set out 'cross the land on a fine morning ride.
Their path was short, their mission gay
On that finest, fairest morn of May.
Down to the glen, Rhys Laithe, were they bound
Where the most lovely of all Maylilies were found.
Queen Corana smiled down upon her son,
As she ever after was glad to have done
Once the great darkness fell.
In time all too short the music was played,
The flowers picked; then the table was laid.
Prince Ereth laughed out of joy at the meal
And partook of the dishes with heart and with zeal.
As the plates were cleared of the last bits of butter
Courtiers heads began wagging which set the Queen's eyes to flutter
Into dangerous dreams.